


The Shallow Grave Exhumed

by Sineala



Category: Blood Feud - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, F/M, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jestyn and Alexia have an unexpected -- but very welcome -- visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shallow Grave Exhumed

**Author's Note:**

> Osprey Archer dared me to write Alexia/Thormod. Somehow this happened. And of course it turned into Jestyn/Thormod along the way because, well, yes.
> 
> Yes, yes, this _is_ basically the premise of the film Ghost. You be quiet.
> 
> For Trope Bingo, "au: supernatural." Ghosts are totally supernatural. Yep.

I awoke only a little before Alexia did. The gray light of dawn, slowly brightening, slid across her features, and then she stretched, smiled a little, and opened her dark eyes. The color was high in her cheeks and I knew that, whatever she had been dreaming of, it had been pleasant.

"Good dreams?" I murmured, and she only colored more; it was then that I realized what sort of dream it likely had been, and why she did not answer me.

I know I have her love, and she mine; I do not do anything so impossible as hold her to fidelity within dreams. Besides, I knew that women were the equal of men in their lusts; why then should she not dream about others? God only knew I did. Though if I awoke thinking of harsh frantic fumbling beneath furs and low voices calling out in a language I hardly spoke anymore -- well, that was a matter for myself alone to know.

But Alexia was braver than I -- or at least more at ease in her confidences -- because she dared to share it. "I dreamed about one of your old comrades, from the Varangian Guard," she said, and she flushed a little more.

Despite myself, I grinned. "Oh? Not me?"

"Not you," she said, a little more firmly. "Not a man I knew. A Northman, for certain."

"Did he kiss well?" I teased.

Her tongue flicked out and ran about her lips; she looked away in remembrance. "He did. And he said -- he said he was glad that you should have a sweet woman, Jestyn. He said I was... finer than amber. Than a necklace. He seemed to think you should know what he meant."

An amber necklace. Thormod's necklace. My mouth was dry. It meant nothing, of course; Alexia knew of the necklace's origin. I had told her. "Alexia--"

Her eyes widened, focusing on something far away. "I must be dreaming still, because it seems to me that I see him now, just there. Do you see? Do you see him?"

In the corner of the room, even brighter now, there was nothing. Was she ill? Demetriades would know what maladies it might be a sign of, these visions she was having. I shook my head. "No, but--"

"He speaks," said Alexia, uncertainly, and she held out a hand. But the rest of her words were not meant for me. "I will," she said, addressing herself to the corner, to this unseen entity, "of course I will help if I am able, for he has said you are his, but I do not know if Jestyn--"

Before she could say anything more, before she could so much as draw another breath, she was gone.

And Thormod Sitricson was in our bed.

Even these many years dead, he was as I remembered him, exactly: his long russet hair was tangled and spread out on the pillow behind him, nothing like the way he had lain when we had slept the watches in Kiev. It was the way a living man lies, not the stillness of a corpse. His sword-grey eyes were bright and his wide mouth curved in a smile.

"Thormod," I said, amazed, feeling the blood pound in my head, wondering if it was I who was mad. "I saw you die."

He grinned again. "Jestyn," he said in a tone of reproach, speaking in the Northmen's tongue, "I know not how long I can stay in this world, old man, and you wish to waste it in talk?"

And then he took my face between his hands -- sword-roughened, oar-callused, hands I had never felt on me before, not like this -- and he kissed me. It was the way I had seen him kiss his women: heavily, fiercely, passionately. It was the way he had fought, once, at my shoulder, and the way I had imagined, more than once, that this might be like. We moved together, with some great wild instinct, deeper than what had bound us as blood-brothers, and I groaned as his body slid against mine. He was naked under the blankets, I realized, as I was; his desire was plainly evident. I wanted-- we could--

With difficulty, I twisted away, putting my hands about Thormod's and lifting them off me.

"We cannot," I panted, "we cannot, Thormod, I am married!"

Thormod laughed. "Do you think your wife does not know? It is her body I borrow, to make this seeming of mine! She agreed, and even now she knows everything we do. She wishes this for you. She kisses wonderfully, by the way. That, and other things. Lovely."

"Are there not women in Valhalla?" I said, only half-annoyed to know that Alexia's dreams had been something more real. I could hardly fault her if we both wanted him.

"Women, aye. Well... Valkyries. And all the mead a man may drink." His face grew serious. "But there is no man such as you, and there never will be."

I turned Thormod's hand over; his arm was thickly muscled, and on his wrist was the faint scar that matched mine. It did not feel anything like Alexia's narrow-boned hand, but I supposed that his Odin All-father might work magics such as this.

"The Blood Feud is over," I said, because this of all things Thormod should learn. "It was your wound that slew Anders, in the end."

Thormod raised a heavy eyebrow. "I know," he said, and I remembered then that I had bidden Anders greet him in Valhalla. "Now may I kiss you?"

"I am hardly one of your camp-followers," I said, shakily, dizzy with arousal, as Thormod traced one gentle finger over the old scar on my head. "Did you ask them so nicely? You would not have needed to bother with asking me, in Dublin. You could have taken what you wanted."

I knew not what possessed me to ask; those days were long behind us.

"Then, I did not. And I would not have. You are not my thrall any longer," he agreed. "So I ask. As one who should have asked in life, but dared not."

I took one breath. Another, and I found that every objection I could have had was gone. "Yes," I said, and Thormod kissed me again.

He did no more than touch me, and I no more than touch him; even in death he was too much a man of his people, and too fond of me, to presume to do that which by his reckoning would unman me. Likewise I would never have dreamed to ask it of him. But for all that, it was wondrous, better than it had ever been in my imaginings, and as I gasped out my pleasure and clung to him I found myself wishing, hopelessly, that he lived still, that he did not lie in that shallow grave in Thrace.

With a cry he found his release, and he kissed me, and he kissed me--

And then it was Alexia I was kissing, her soft skin damp with sweat, and my face wet with tears.

We lay together, and for a while we did not speak, and I was glad of it.

"He missed you," she said, finally. "He missed you very much. He was sorry he could not stay."

A great sorrow welled up in my heart, but when I opened my mouth I found there was not sadness but laughter in it. "He told me that you kissed well."

"And do I?"

"I have always thought so," I allowed, and as she kissed me again I wondered if somewhere, Thormod was smiling.


End file.
